she suddenly snapped back into brisk, teacherly mode “—it would be entirely up to you. I wouldn’t want to interfere. You would have complete freedom. I’m sure you’re a far more capable choreographer than I am!”
I blinked. “You want me to make up my own steps?”
“Oh, Maddy, could you?” Miss Lucas clasped both hands back to her bosom. (I say bosom as it is only polite, though in fact she is so skinny she is like a tube.) “That would be really wonderful! You’re so much more advanced than you were last year. I couldn’t possibly do justice to your talents! But of course,” she added, “you must ask your mother. If she thinks it’s too much, you must say so. I know how busy you are, with your lessons.”
I wasn’t as busy as all that. I could find the time. But I did so wish that just for once I could play a speaking part! Maybe I could get Mum to say she’d rather I didn’t take on any more dance assignments but wouldn’t mind if I was one of the spoilt sisters.
“So, what do you think?” said Miss Lucas.
I promised that I would ask Mum. “I’ll see what she says.”
This time I waited for a good moment. Mum had taken her last class of the day and was back home, with a glass of wine and her feet up. Sean wasn’t there cos he was at the theatre, and Dad was on his way to New York to mount a production of ZigZag, one of his most popular works, for the New York City Ballet. I had Mum all to myself. I just wanted her to agree that it wouldn’t be sensible for me to take on any more work. Dancing work.
“Cos, you know, having to do all the choreography … I couldn’t properly give it my full attention.”
“Why not?” said Mum. I said, “Well, I mean …” I waved a hand. “What with classes and everything.”
“What’s everything?” said Mum.
“Practising. Ports de bras, like you said! And schoolwork. I have to do some schoolwork.”
Mum said, “Maddy, you have the very minimum amount of schoolwork. It’s one of the reasons we sent you there, so you’d have plenty of time for your dancing.”
“But classes!” I wailed.
“Two a week plus Saturday mornings? That’s nothing! When I was your age,” said Mum, “I was leaving home for a seven o’clock class every morning.”
“Not when you were eleven,” I said.
“I would have done,” said Mum, “if it had been asked of me.”
“Well, anyway.” I flopped down at the far end of the sofa. Mum hastily transferred her glass from one hand to the other.
“Just watch what you’re doing, Maddy! You’re supposed to be a dancer … Gracious. Poised. Not hurling yourself about like a baby elephant.”
“Sorry.” I could already sense that this was not going to go well. “Thing is—” I picked at a bit of sofa which seemed to be coming loose. “Thing is, it’s a really soppy storyline! I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it. It’s about this—”
“Stop!” Mum held up a hand. She never has much patience with what she calls “moaning and carrying on”. “Whatever it’s about I’m sure you’ll find a way to deal with it. It’ll be good experience for you.”
“It might be,” I said, “if I wanted to be a choreographer. But I don’t!”
“Do you think your dad knew that that’s what he wanted at your age?”
I frowned. What did Dad have to do with it?
“You just never know,” said Mum. “And think how happy it will make Miss Lucas!”
I plucked some more at the sofa. “It won’t make her happy if I’m just, like, totally uninspired.”
“I should certainly hope you won’t be totally uninspired!”
“But I don’t know how long she wants it to be! I don’t even have any music! I—”
“So find some,” snapped Mum “Heaven knows your dad has a large enough collection. And stop pulling the furniture to pieces!”
I said, “Sorry! But honestly I can’t see there’s any point in having a dance interlude.”
“Why not?” said Mum. “If that’s what Miss Lucas wants … It’s her show. And you are a dancer, so why not make use of you?”
“But Mum, she wants me to be a fairy!” I said.
“So? What’s wrong with that? I’ll have you know,” said Mum, “that the Lilac Fairy was one of my very first solo roles!”
I said, “That’s different. That’s in Sleeping Beauty. That’s a classic! This is just soppy.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” said Mum. “You’re the one doing the choreography; it’s up to you. You can’t have it both ways! You complain when you’re asked to do it yourself and you complain when Miss Lucas does it for you. All that fuss last year at having to do that pathetic little dance she’d made up!”
I said, “Yes, cos it was tacky. You said so.”
“Well, all right, it was. But Miss Lucas is not a professional dancer: you are. Or at least you’re aiming to be. I would expect you to do a bit better than Miss Lucas. This is an opportunity, Maddy! Make the most of it. You could start by finding some suitable music. That’s always your dad’s way in. Find the music and let it inspire you.”
I heaved a sigh. I had so wanted, this one time, to have a proper speaking part! Just to show what I could do. Everybody knew I could dance. I wanted to show them I could act as well!
“Music!” said Mum.
I said, “Yes. All right.”
I supposed it would have to be something slow and mournful. I would obviously have to waft about the stage looking pathetic, with lyrical arm movements and maybe the occasional arabesque. Nothing in the least bit exciting. Certainly no fouettés or pirouettes. Just boring adage. Slow, slow, slow. Exactly what I am least good at!
I went through Dad’s music collection and found some slow, sad music and waited for it to inspire me. But it didn’t! There are some dancers who are just naturally gifted at adage. They have beautiful lines and what Mum calls “poise and serenity”. Then there are others – like me – who shine at allegro. We leap, we spin, we turn, we dazzle. But how could a broken-down fairy do any of that?
And then, as I sat on the floor, brooding over the slow, sad music and waiting for inspiration, I remembered something Miss Lucas had said. She’d remember the old days, when she was young … She might even do a few steps, trying to recapture the magic of her youth.
Yesss! I sprang up, suddenly excited. That would be my way in! The fairy leaping and spinning, just as she had when she was young.
